


Worth a Thousand Words

by HoopyFrood



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Falling In Love, First Time, M/M, Photographs, Photography, Romance, Romantic Friendship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-06
Updated: 2012-06-06
Packaged: 2017-11-07 02:07:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/425724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoopyFrood/pseuds/HoopyFrood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For Alfonso, 1956 proves a turning point in a way he would never have imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Worth a Thousand Words

Alfonso hadn’t started making a scrapbook with the intention for it to eventually develop into some kind of pet project. He’d always carried a camera with him; from when he started horse-riding, right through to his recent stint at bobsleighing. As a lover of art and literature, taking photos allowed even him to feel somewhat creative amongst the more dangerous pursuits he adored so much.

Today was no exception. It was a gorgeous morning in Sebring, and the atmosphere was unlike that of an important race and more akin to a simple social gathering between those who shared a similar passion. It was a wonderful way to start the year and everyone was in good spirits.

Alfonso weaved in and out between the cars, leisurely taking photos. He reached the end of the grid and stood for a minute or two admiring the view.

Just as he was about press down on the shutter of his camera, Wolfgang von Trips jumped in front of the lens. The camera clicked, capturing Taffy’s grinning face as opposed to the long line of cars waiting outside their respective pits.

Alfonso had only met Taffy in passing a handful of times, but the young German’s reputation had begun to snowball recently, and it was looking like they would be spending a lot more time together over the next year or two; if their careers were heading in the direction they both so desperately wanted.

“Sorry, couldn’t resist,” Taffy apologised and subconsciously smoothed his hair back.

“No harm done,” Alfonso assured as he put the lens cap back on.

“I’m glad I caught you,” Taffy chirped in his usual animated manner. “I hear congratulations are in order.”

Alfonso stared at him, waiting for Taffy to continue. He didn’t.

“I’m sorry,” he finally conceded in defeat. “But what for?”

Taffy chuckled, but his mirth quickly tapered off at Alfonso’s blank look.

“Oh,” he said once realising Alfonso wasn’t joking. “Your fourth place at the Olympics? In the bobsleigh?” He ventured, now unsure.

It was so unusual for a fellow competitor to be interested in his life outside of just simply how fast he could drive – especially someone he wasn’t particularly close with – that Alfonso was honestly caught off guard. Racing drivers usually couldn’t care less what you got up to off the track unless it involved how many women you managed to sleep with the night before.

“Ah, yes,” he said slowly and rubbed the back of his neck, his fingers just dipping under the collar of his polo shirt, “Thank you.”

“Bet the press has been hounding you like mad.”

“It’s been… busy,” he allowed with a grin.

“Why do I feel like that’s the understatement of the century?” Taffy sighed. “You’re making the rest of us look bad, Fon!”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Taffy cleared his throat and gave him a crooked smile. “This is a stunner,” he said, changing the subject, and patted the Ferrari.

Alfonso shrugged and watched Taffy dance his fingers over the red paint job. To him, cars were either merely a mode of transport or a means to win races, nothing more. “As long as it goes fast, I’ll think it the most beautiful car in the world.”

The tannoy loudly announced the time, 9:30; half an hour until the beginning of the race.

“I doubt you’ll need it, but good luck for today,” Taffy said with obvious sincerity.

“Likewise,” Alfonso replied. “But not too much.”

They grinned widely at each other.

“Obviously.”

Taffy gave a jaunty salute and jogged back over to his Porsche teammate Hans Herrmann who was patiently waiting for him.

Alfonso walked out into the middle of the track and took one more [photo](http://i146.photobucket.com/albums/r262/TRASHBAT_photos/tumblr_le1am4059A1qdcd2wo1_500.jpg) of the gathered crowd before heading off for the last debrief of the day with his mechanic.

**

Italy was fast becoming a home away from home.

A fourth for him and Olivier in the Supercortemaggiore was a good result. And what with Peter and Mike coming first, as well as Juan and Eugenio claiming third, the Ferrari cars were on top form. Of course, for the Brits, this was a perfect excuse to celebrate; and they easily stumbled across a suitable local bar where causing a relative nuisance wasn’t likely to get them thrown out. Not immediately, anyway.

Amongst all the success, however, there was one lone Scuderia pairing that didn’t end up finishing the race with as much glory. In fact, they didn’t finish at all. But, true to their nature, Harry and Taffy were far from despondent. They were more than happy to drown their non-existent sorrows.

As it turned out, the bar was already full to the rafters with drivers by the time they arrived. The entwined sounds of laughter and clinking glasses rang throughout and created a welcoming atmosphere.

Alfonso was talking to an attractive young woman who had made a bee-line for him almost as soon as he walked through the door. She’d confidently introduced herself – call me Anna, she said – and bought him a drink. Two hours later, and they were still lost in their own little world.

Mike, having made another trip across the bar for a refill, patted him on the shoulder as he strode past. Alfonso heard him moaning loudly at Stirling to get out of his seat once he reached their table. In an attempt to block out the noise, he leant in closer to Anna and tucked a curl back behind her ear. He paused at the sight of his grubby fingers next to her smooth skin, barely paying any attention as she coyly leaned into his touch. She looked a lot like Dorian, and he briefly wondered if he was missing her more than he thought.

Distracted, Alfonso glanced to the side and met Taffy’s eyes over the shoulder of the petite blonde he was talking to. It was unexpected – they’d barely seen each other all evening – and his heart jolted strangely in his chest; almost as if it had missed a beat.

Anna put her hand on his thigh. “Are you okay?”

He looked back at her. She had cupid-bow lips and brilliant blue eyes. She was gorgeous. The sort of women everyone expected to be on his arm and in his bed.

“I’m fine, sweetheart.” He slipped a cigarette into his mouth and proceeded to pat down the front of his jacket looking for a lighter. She helpfully held up her own and lit him up. He took a satisfyingly long drag.

Alfonso risked another glance over to Taffy. In the blonde’s place was now Jo Bonnier, a tall Swedish driver, who was almost bracketing Taffy against the oak bar. They both looked relaxed, there was even a slight flush to Taffy’s cheeks, yet Alfonso was overcome with the irrational urge to pull them apart.

“Let’s get out of here.” He stood up, grabbed his jacket off the back of his chair and offered Anna his hand. Her face lit up at the suggestion and it was enough to help him forget the momentary annoyance that had just gripped him. 

She settled in the crook of his arm and they walked out without a backwards glance, a few wolf whistles following them as they went.

**

“Here,” Taffy said, holding out a stack of photographs neatly tied together. “We missed you at the Mille Millgia.”

It’d been nearly a month since Alfonso had seen Taffy, and he’d often found himself thinking of the German despite his best efforts not to. That night in Italy had especially been playing on his mind; endlessly ticking over and over like a roll of film. To hear that he hadn’t been far from Taffy’s own thoughts made him feel curiously wanted.

Despite what people thought, Alfonso wasn’t used to being missed.

“Seeing as you weren’t there to take them yourself, I thought I’d do so for you,” Taffy shyly explained as Alfonso flicked through.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Alfonso said sincerely, endeared by the gesture. 

At the bottom of the pile there was a postcard. He flipped it over and on the back was scrawled, _wish you were here!_ He smiled and ran his thumb over the message. He could so clearly imagine Taffy ducking into one of the many little authentic shops that tourists loved so much; touching all the little trinkets and charming the person behind the counter.

“I know, but I wanted to,” Taffy insisted. “Next year, if you’re lucky, I’ll bring you back a t-shirt,” he added and prodded Alfonso in the chest.

Alfonso was touched by Taffy’s understanding of his dislike for the famous open road race. He was a self-confessed thrill seeker, but the difficult to memorise circuit layout coupled with the huge crowds that spilled out onto it at every corner, sucked out all of the fun for him. There was no point risking your life when there was no enjoyment to gain from doing so.

He placed the bundle in his up-turned helmet, a [photo](http://i146.photobucket.com/albums/r262/TRASHBAT_photos/1955-Floriopoli-Castellotti-Manzon-B1jpeg3.jpg%20) of Peter and Eugenio on top of the pile.

“I take it you had fun, then?”

“I always enjoy the Mille,” Taffy said. “Of course, more so when I actually finish,” he added with a hint of insecurity.

Alfonso nodded at his Ferrari 290MM. “We need to get you in one of those permanently.” 

“Now that would be nice,” Taffy sighed wistfully. “But my track record is very much against me in that respect.”

Well, shit. Alfonso’s intention hadn’t been to make Taffy feel bad. In fact, his own penchant for off-road driving, as Juan liked to call it, was probably worse than Taffy’s. He nudged him in the arm. “Here, watch this.”

He picked up a nearby screwdriver and started to purposely walk towards his car. Suddenly, out of nowhere, there were three mechanics trying to drag him away and prise the tool out of his hands. Taffy laughed in surprise at the ensuing scuffle, not sure whether to intervene.

Eventually, Alfonso was left empty handed and doubled over with laughter. Italian curses rang out in amusement around them which only seemed to make it worse.

“What on Earth was all that about?” Taffy asked with a bemused chuckle.

“I don’t know a thing about cars,” Alfonso explained as he straightened up. “Scares the hell out of them every time. Christ knows what they think I’m going to do to it. I have to drive the thing, after all.”

“You horrible man!” Taffy mock-gasped and leant in conspicuously. “Do it again.”

Alfonso grinned and sneakily picked up a wrench.

**

There was an obvious unease surrounding this year’s Le Mans. After last year’s tragedy, everyone was determined for it to go off without a hitch. Safety improvements had been made and most of the drivers were satisfied with them, but that didn’t stop officials from swarming around in apprehension.

He’d seen Mike outside of the Jaguar pit lost in his own world, but that too was to be expected. Peter soon wandered up to him and made himself comfortable at his side, waiting in silence until he was ready to talk. The two Brits were fast becoming close friends and Alfonso had no doubt that they’d soon be inseparable.

“So, not only did I miss your debut, but your first second place as well?” Taffy said with a slight pout.

“You can make it up to me,” Alfonso offered without really thinking, his mind elsewhere.

Taffy visibly perked up. “Then let me take you to dinner,” he urged. “My treat.”

And that was how, once the gruelling race had finally finished the next day, Alfonso found himself sitting across from Taffy in a French restaurant.

He’d actually made an effort with his appearance for a change; an effort that went beyond just splashing on some cologne to mask the smell of sweat. His clothes were fresh and his hair was combed. It wasn’t a side his friends usually got to see outside of official functions or when he had to make a semi-public appearance with Carroll.

The restaurant was obviously an expensive one – the deep, velvet reds of the décor were hint enough to that – but it had a friendly atmosphere that Alfonso appreciated. It was just what they needed after the last few days. Good food and even better company.

Across from him, Taffy yawned into his fist. He quickly apologised.

Alfonso shook his head. “We could have done this another time,” he said over the top of his menu. “You’re still tired.”

He only managed six measly laps whilst Taffy had gone on to do an impressive two hundred and eighty two. The grogginess he was feeling just didn’t seem justified in comparison.

Taffy waved his hand dismissively. “Nonsense, I’ve been looking forward to this since yesterday morning.”

He quirked an eyebrow. “I’m flattered,” he joked.

They ordered their food and a bottle of wine for the table, one that turned out to be a favourite of both of them. The conversation flowed easily, and they unabashedly gossiped about their rivals and teammates with good-natured humour. It was pleasant. More than pleasant, Alfonso was enjoying every second of it.

They both leaned forward with their elbows on the table; not caring about etiquette. He howled with laughter when Taffy recounted his time in a local biker gang, the mental image his words conjured up just too cute for Alfonso to comprehend. Of course, he said just as much. Taffy kicked his foot under the table but laughed along, admitting he didn’t pull off the look terribly well.

“When I was 17, I flew an aeroplane under a bridge for a $500 bet,” Alfonso shared, a hint of pride colouring his admission.

“You didn’t,” Taffy said in wonder. Alfonso merely smiled in response. “Okay, you clearly win,” Taffy relented with a sigh.

Alfonso swirled his wine around in its glass and took a sip. “I didn’t realise it was a competition,” he flirted, unable to resist.

Taffy fiddled with his cutlery and looked up through his lashes at him.

It was a selfish thing to do on his part, but his rarely used restraint could only go so far. Alfonso found it hard to pinpoint why he was so taken with the German. He couldn’t deny there was a certain camaraderie between the two of them he hadn’t experienced before; an understanding that was rare between two people who started out as less than colleagues. But maybe that was it. Alfonso was a slave to his emotions, too often had he fallen in love at the drop of a hat or pushed his body and mind to the limit purely out of boredom.

Taffy was alluring because he was an unknown in every possible sense.

And that excited him.

“Isn’t it always?” Taffy replied.

Their mains soon arrived and they immediately tucked in. Taffy savoured his food, clearly enjoying every little mouthful, as a look of bliss crossed his face. Or big mouthful, Alfonso corrected as he watched Taffy none too delicately shovel in a forkful of pasta.

“Tell me, how does such a well brought up boy turn out to be such an unsophisticated diner?”

“It’s your influence,” Taffy simpered.

“What an honour.”

“As it should be,” Taffy said with fake haughtiness. “I’m an absolute delight with everyone else.”

“That, I don’t doubt.”

With desserts devoured and coffees drunk, Alfonso automatically went to reach for the bill. Taffy, much quicker, snatched it away before he could pick it up and waved it around in the air away from him.

“Nuh-uh,” he scolded. “My treat, remember?”

“I could get used to this,” Alfonso admitted and slouched back in his chair.

“Don’t.”

**

Back at his Paris apartment, between important races, Alfonso had time to relax. It was a spacious place; he didn’t have much furniture and only very few personal effects on display. Only his various trophies and mountainous stack of LPs gave anything away about the man who lived there. It was his own space; what with Carroll having decided to move back to New York with the kids.

He sat cross legged on the floor, his newly developed photos fanned out all around him. Posed and candid shots alike looked up at him; from [Harry](http://www.sportscardigest.com/wp-content/uploads/28-Sebring-56.jpg) being his usual annoying self, to [group](http://i146.photobucket.com/albums/r262/TRASHBAT_photos/ResizeofSebring1956Fangio-Musso-Castellotti-Shell-DePortago.jpg) [shots](http://i146.photobucket.com/albums/r262/TRASHBAT_photos/reims56.jpg) with each person grinning broadly in simple happiness. Most noticeably, however, was the rather sizeable number that were [purely](http://i146.photobucket.com/albums/r262/TRASHBAT_photos/graf-berghe-von-trips-portraet-1957amsmdb5312301.jpg) [of](http://i146.photobucket.com/albums/r262/TRASHBAT_photos/Berghe-von-TRips.jpg) [Taffy](http://i146.photobucket.com/albums/r262/TRASHBAT_photos/VONTRIPS.jpg). 

Alfonso’s eyes flitted across each one in something approaching disbelief.

He ran his fingers through his hair and laughed in frustration. This was meant to be soothing. Had the German really begun to take over his every waking thought so obviously?

He picked up the picture from Sebring that Taffy had sabotaged and smiled, a sudden wave of fondness washing over him. As well as unmistakable spike of heat. He palmed the growing bulge through his soft cotton trousers and groaned; the sound unbelievably loud in his empty apartment.

Alfonso wasn’t one to feel ashamed over his various sexual trysts; be them with men or women. It was very much the mind-set of a man who always got what he wanted and couldn’t care less what others thought. But this was different, different in a way it had never been with a man before. Feelings were always so blatantly absent from those encounters, that they could barely be called anything more.

In fact, the thrill of motor racing had all but dampened his lust for male company of late. The last man he’d been with was a fellow jockey; French, smaller than him with curly brown hair and pale green eyes. It was mutually beneficial, no strings-attached sex. Often nothing more than a quick fumble behind the stables. It never meant anything to either of them, and there wasn’t any lingering doubt in the back of Alfonso’s mind about if ending it when they did was the right thing or not. He simply didn’t care.

But with Taffy, he was beginning to.

He slipped his hand inside, hissing through his teeth when he grazed hot, hard flesh with his fingertips. He wondered where Taffy was now, what he was doing. Was he with anyone? It was an addictive torture. He teased himself with each and every scenario he could picture until he was aching. 

He groaned loudly as he thumbed the head of his cock and soon was spilling into his hand.

It was a ridiculous situation.

**

Alfonso wasn’t expecting Taffy to be at the German Grand Prix, even though part of him had been desperately hoping. But there he was, dressed immaculately – if somewhat rakishly with his shirt unbuttoned and the sleeves rolled up – as per usual. He received a warm, lingering hug in greeting. One he eagerly returned.

They sought refuge in the busy paddock amongst the transporters and buses to catch up after their time apart.

“It seems we’re splitting up the dynamic duo at Kristianstad this month,” Alfonso said as he sat down on the edge of a petrol drum.

“I know,” Taffy giggled. “Think we’ll ever hear the end of it during the weekend?”

“I’d say the chances are slim to none. Luckily, I’m well experienced in being able to tune people out,” Alfonso revealed. “Mike will be nothing but white noise.” He wiggled his fingers in the air next to his head.

“Oh, he’ll love that,” Taffy snorted. “Just don’t come crying to me when he whacks you.”

“You’re just annoyed you’ll have to put up with Peter’s pining.”

“Wonderful choice of words.” Taffy gave him an amused look. “Are you going straight there on Monday?”

“I haven’t really decided yet.”

“Then come stay with me.” The offer tumbled out of Taffy’s mouth, seeming to catch even him off guard. “That way we can both travel to Sweden together and you can have a few days’ rest.”

There were a million reasons why he shouldn’t agree, the future of his own mental state being the most obvious, but he accepted; powerless to do anything but.

“I’d like that.” A lot.

**

Burg Hemmersbach was exactly how Alfonso imagined it would be. Clearly not as grand as it had once been centuries before, the ravages of war had seen to that, but still gorgeous in its gothic beauty and proud solitude. It even had a moat!

A woman was waiting for them at the door as they busied themselves with getting their bags out from the back of the car. She was an older lady, with lightly coloured hair streaked with grey that was curled and pinned up onto her head.

Taffy dropped a hand onto the small of Alfonso’s back and gently urged him forward. The gravel crunched under their feet as they approached.

“Mother, this is Alfonso de Portago,” Taffy introduced almost proudly.

By the slight purse of her lips, Alfonso could see she’d already labelled him as a playboy from the moment he got out of the car. What with his leather jacket, three days’ worth of stubble and cigarette stuck behind his ear, he couldn’t blame her. It didn’t bother him – not much did – but he still took slight pleasure in knowing that, as sweet as Taffy was, he was no saint either.

“A pleasure, Countess,” he greeted and kissed her on each cheek.

Alfonso was well aware of his natural ability to win people over. He was soft-spoken and eloquent; two traits that always made reporters flock towards him. His near poetical descriptions of racing gave any bland interview a touch of much needed class. When he pulled back, he noticed her face had softened, and mentally congratulated himself.

Done with the pleasantries, she framed Taffy’s face with her hands and began to fuss over him in rapid German. Alfonso pretended he couldn’t understand, grinning in mischief when Taffy glared at him after a typically mothering, _Are you eating enough? Because you’re looking a little thin_ , cut through the air at an embarrassingly high volume.

In that moment, Alfonso caught a glimpse of the boy who grew up in the majestic castle that towered over them, as opposed to the man stood in front of him. He felt a wave of nostalgia for a childhood he was never part of.

He picked up his and Taffy’s bags, earning him another approving look, and followed them into the house.

They spent most of the day walking round the grounds of the castle. Taffy went into detail about the history of his home and the men and women who used to live there in such a way, that it was like listening to a fairy tale; one full of people with brave and honourable spirits. Alfonso was content to let Taffy tell his stories, genuinely enthralled.

He was also endeared to note that Taffy’s accent had thickened since their arrival. It was often hard to tell that Taffy was German, he sounded more American than European at times, but being in the comfort of his own home seemed to relax him. Alfonso liked it.

Taffy led him through an overgrown maze of rose bushes. The thorns scratched at his bare arms, drawing faint lines of blood up and down his tanned skin. On impulse, an idea having formed, Alfonso stopped and raised the camera up. He let Taffy carry on ahead of him, now unwittingly talking to himself, until the young Count eventually realised he was no longer being followed. With a question on the tip of his tongue, Taffy turned back round. As he did, Alfonso took a [ picture](http://i146.photobucket.com/albums/r262/TRASHBAT_photos/von-trips-5.jpg).

Taffy laughed in surprise. Alfonso took another.

Alfonso, a wide smile now gracing his own face, continued to click away as Taffy stalked towards him. When he finally reached him, Taffy closed his hands over Alfonso’s on the camera. The strap around Alfonso’s neck was pulled taught, and he was forced to take a step closer to Taffy.

There was an intense romance to it that Alfonso had never felt before. In the shadow of Taffy’s castle, hidden away from the world amongst the trees, he was at peace. The itch under his skin that was forever pulling him towards speed and fear had lessened, becoming almost comforting in its sudden simplicity. Yet, his heart was still beating heavily in excitement.

It was the same feeling from that night in the Italian bar; a new craving for a different kind of adventure.

The breeze ruffled Taffy’s blonde hair and a bird sung its tuneful song overhead, oblivious to the two men beneath it.

“I want to show you something,” Taffy whispered. He circled his fingers round Alfonso’s wrist and gently tugged him through the last few bushes and out onto a clearing.

The view was gorgeous. Stretched out in front of them was an apple orchard and acres of farmland beyond it.

Taffy exhaled deeply. “Sometimes I wonder why I ever leave,” he sighed and gave Alfonso a subtle sideways glance. “I’m sure my mother would prefer it if I didn’t.”

“You leave because you need to,” Alfonso answered simply. It was the same for him. This life had become an addiction. Something he couldn’t, _wouldn’t_ , give up. They were the same in that respect, both having surrendered themselves over to it fully, regardless of the outcome. “She doesn’t begrudge you that.”

By the time they returned to the main manor house, the sun was setting. Taffy’s mother brought them ice-cold glasses of lemonade and chided them over the state of their clothes as if they were children. In jest, she even licked her thumb and started to rub away a spot of non-existent dirt from Taffy’s brow.

Alfonso snickered into his drink, some of the fizzy liquid shooting up his nose as he did, as two mischievous pairs of hands suddenly descended upon him. He playfully squirmed away, endeared by the intimacy he’d been accepted into.

The two of them sat up late into the night, curled in front of one the many large fireplaces dotted throughout the manor, before eventually retiring to their rooms. They both kept quiet as they made their way up the stairs, almost as if the place was full of people to potentially wake up. Burg Hemmersbach was so much harsher in the dark, and Alfonso could easily imagine an American soldier on patrol striding towards them out of the shadows. 

“If you need anything, I’m just a few doors down from you.” Taffy pointed down the hallway. “It can get a bit cold, so there are extra blankets in the chest at the foot of your bed.”

“I’ll make sure to remember that.”

Silence fell between them, dense and heavy as if they were both waiting for the other to do something. Taffy fidgeted and Alfonso distractedly picked at the wooden doorframe.

“Goodnight, then,” Taffy eventually said.

Alfonso nodded. “Sleep well.”

**

The next day, Taffy disappeared straight after breakfast to help with the constant maintenance the castle was currently in need of. Alfonso reluctantly followed and lazily took more [photos of him as he worked in the fields](http://i146.photobucket.com/albums/r262/TRASHBAT_photos/1315225001396l.jpg); entranced by the image of someone with noble blood running through their veins doing such basic, manual labour. 

The extra attention didn’t seem to faze Taffy in the slightest; he was stripped down to just a pair of ragged shorts that came to mid-thigh and his skin was glistening with sweat. He was virtually indistinguishable from the other field hands, yet it seemed to be a regular occurrence and no one batted an eyelid at the young Count’s insistence.

Alfonso put the camera down, rolled up his trousers and went to grab a shovel.

“You’re meant to be relaxing,” Taffy said as he hefted a bag of fertilizer up onto his shoulder.

“Now, how in good conscience could I possibly do that when you’re working so hard?”

Taffy smiled sweetly and shrugged. “Your choice.”

Alfonso concentrated with churning up the soft soil ready for the various vegetable seeds to be pushed deep into it. He was used to working hard, but not in such an obvious manner, and he felt the strain across his shoulder blades. Taffy was a lot slimmer than him, but was moving around with grace and with the apparent strength of a man twice his size. It was impressive, and a side of him Alfonso hadn’t seen before.

Just as he was getting the hang of his impromptu job, he misplaced his footing and fell backwards onto the uneven ground. His shoes were ruined beyond the point of rescue and his tail bone throbbed with a dull ache.

Taffy’s grinning face swam into view. He wasn’t even attempting to disguise his amusement.

“What are you doing down there?” He asked.

The few workers closest to them tittered behind their hands, taking Alfonso’s misfortune as an opportunity for a quick break.

“Becoming one with nature,” Alfonso said seriously.

Taffy snickered and offered a hand. Alfonso unhelpfully let Taffy take all of his weight as the other man pulled him back up onto his feet. He huffed dramatically in supposed exhaustion, which Alfonso chose to ignore in mild petulance. He wasn’t cut out for this.

Alfonso brushed down his backside. “You’ve been at this for hours, now,” he said pointedly.

“Just a little bit longer and then we can go to the pub,” Taffy promised.

Alfonso was tempted to argue.

“Fine.”

He was getting soft.

**

They had one more half-day at the castle, and Alfonso slept the majority of it away. He spread himself out in the king-size four poster bed, sluggishly trying to find the cool spots on the fabric by gliding his bare legs across the mattress. It was easy to forget about the world outside when you were so content.

Once finally rousing himself fully, he went on the search for food. In the von Trips’ large kitchen, the cupboards were bursting with treats. He’d already been told to make himself at home, so wasted no time in devouring a couple of homemade brownies and a slice of carrot cake. No longer having to watch his weight definitely had its perks.

With Taffy locked away in his study finalising some important documents with his father, Alfonso kept Taffy’s mother company. It was nice to have some one-on-one time with her. She was just as cheeky as Taffy and Alfonso found her rather rude sense of humour endlessly hilarious. She even dug out some adorable photos of [Taffy as a boy](http://i146.photobucket.com/albums/r262/TRASHBAT_photos/1315225001444l.jpg) to show him.

But evening rolled around fast, and it was soon time to set off to catch their late flight from Berlin.

“I’ll look after him,” Alfonso vowed to Taffy’s mother. After all, that’s what you said to worried parents, wasn’t it?

She placed a hand on his chest, over his heart. “Look after _each other_ ,” she said and, this time, kissed him on the cheek.

“What was all that about?” Taffy asked, intrigued, once Alfonso joined him over by their rental car.

Alfonso chucked him under the chin as if Taffy wasn’t a few months older than him. “Nothing.”

Taffy narrowed his eyes. “I don’t like the idea of you and my mother conspiring,” he said. “You know she once asked Peter to make sure I had enough clean underwear to last me the Targa?”

“And did he?”

“Every night,” he grumbled, remembering how much Peter pestered him; and the utter glee he gained from doing so.

“And did _you_?” Alfonso added. Taffy frowned in confusion. “Have enough clean underwear, that is?” Taffy shoved him and got into the car.

With lots of vigorous waving, they pulled out of the front gates; finally on their way to Sweden.

**

He was chasing Taffy.

It didn’t matter that Phil and Maurice were leading. 

It didn’t matter that Taffy was partnered with Peter.

It just didn’t matter. 

In his mind, this was _their_ race; just the two of them, no one else. 

He gripped the steering wheel tightly and leant forward. It was exhilarating, and he let out a roaring shout of excitement.

There were two more laps to go.

The gap between them had been slowly closing for the past hour; the seconds gradually falling away as Alfonso made up the time. But Taffy was pushing just as hard, and he was managing to hold his lead no matter what Alfonso tried. Showing his new nickname recently dreamt up by the British to be nothing but a cheap shot against an otherwise talented driver; Taffy wasn’t putting a foot, or wheel, wrong.

Alfonso checked his mirror. He couldn’t see the car behind him anymore.

Despite their cars and teams having been decided weeks ago, Taffy had been surprised with a practice run in Alfonso’s 860 Monza by Eraldo just before the race. Both he and Alfonso hoped they would go on to share the drive, with Taffy switching with Mike, but this was better. So much better.

He turned the last corner and was on the finishing straight. There was no way he could beat Taffy now, he was too far ahead, but he kept up his speed. The cheering of the crowd was faint against the roar of his engine; muted and pushed to the back of his mind as he zoomed past.

He could see Taffy already being mobbed by well-wishers ahead and as soon he brought the car to a halt, he too was swamped. Nine seconds behind, someone told him as they handed over a bottle of water. Third place. Not that he couldn’t have guessed.

He gulped down the cool liquid in haste to soothe his raw throat and vaulted over the side of the car. He carelessly dropped his helmet and goggles onto the ground, forgotten, and scrubbed at his soot covered face. Pats were still raining down on his back and his eyesight was blurred, but still he staggered towards the large group surrounding Taffy.

He felt like a warrior; satisfied after a particular arduous but thrilling battle.

It was a feeling he was forever trying to achieve. And today, Taffy helped him do so.

Mike pulled him into a one-armed embrace and messed up his hair into further disarray by roughly raking his fingers through it. “Well done, mate,” he boomed with vigour. “You brought us home just behind Pete and Taffy. It was pretty bloody close, though!”

Alfonso relished the closeness, suddenly craving contact after the intensity of his drive. He slouched against Mike’s chest with heavy limbs and a pounding in his ears. 

Mike hefted him up without complaint and walked them over to where Phil, Maurice, Peter and Taffy were gathered.

There would be more celebrating tonight.

**

Alfonso softly shut the door to his son’s bedroom as quietly as he could manage; subconsciously waiting for that familiar click of the metal fixture slotting into its place before releasing the breath he was holding.

Unbeknownst to him, his wife was silently watching from the other end of the hallway. Though a loving father, she wasn’t used to him being so attentive and could sense something was different.

“You’re seeing someone,” she announced abruptly as he turned round. 

It was a bold accusation, one he’d heard often.

He pinched the bridge of his nose in exasperation. He was not in the mood for this tonight. “Carroll, please,” he almost-begged.

“I don’t mean Dorian,” she cut in sharply. “That’s not exactly news anymore, now is it?”

He supposed it wasn’t.

“I’m not mad, Fon,” she sighed. “Tired, but not mad.” She pulled her nightgown tightly round her chest and padded back into the living room.

Alfonso wiped his hands on his trousers in agitation. He was craving a smoke.

“There isn’t anyone else,” he stated simply, following after her. No one serious, at least, he thought. There was an American actress he’d taken out on a date last week, but that didn’t count. Despite having already made plans to see her again.

Regardless, she wasn’t convinced. That much was obvious.

On impulse, he reached out and gently cradled her head. Letting his fingers smooth over the soft skin behind her ears, he kissed her. The feel of her lips against his was comfortably familiar, but there was nothing there, no spark or passion; there hadn’t been in a very long while. She kept her arms hanging uselessly at her sides, barely reacting to the kiss, until Alfonso finally drew back.

“I’ll talk to my lawyer in the morning,” she said, stepping out of Alfonso’s loose hold. “See if we can speed along the divorce.” And with that, she glided out of the room. 

Alfonso flopped down onto the sofa.

Another, albeit unintentional, step closer to marrying Dorian. After all, it was the least she deserved.

A car horn honked loudly from the street below. As usual, New York was bustling with life just outside the window.

He grabbed his wallet and headed out into the night.

**

It was the weekend of the Italian Grand Prix and the last race of the Formula One season. It was also Taffy’s debut in a works car. He was buzzing with excitement, spurred on by an obvious undercurrent of nervous energy, and absolutely desperate to prove himself.

He was happily talking to his mechanics when Alfonso draped an arm around his shoulders. Taffy immediately leant back against him, and Alfonso could feel his body heat seep through his shirt and warm his own skin.

“Mind if I kidnap you for a bit?” He asked close to his ear. Alfonso couldn’t help the delight he felt at seeing the slight upwards twitch of Taffy’s lips.

“I think they can spare me,” Taffy quipped and inclined his head slightly towards his mechanics, silently asking for unnecessary permission to go. They happily shooed to two of them away and reluctantly got back to work.

Holding onto Taffy’s forearms, Alfonso directed him next to his Ferrari. He positioned him accordingly so his hip was cocked against the side of the car and then made him fold his arms over his chest. Finally, he grabbed Taffy’s helmet which was resting on the seat and fixed it on his head.

“There,” Alfonso said, satisfied, and took a few steps back. In what now had become a familiar ritual for the two of them, he raised his camera up to eye-level and started to take photos.

With his head cocked and chin dipped down, Taffy looked sweetly self-effacing. Alfonso circled around him, like a wild animal toying with its prey; their possible audience completely forgotten.

“Now in the car,” Alfonso prompted.

Taffy obeyed, swinging his long legs over the side and lowering himself down into the cockpit. He wriggled around, trying to get comfortable, before eventually gripping the steering wheel and [beaming into Alfonso’s lens](http://i146.photobucket.com/albums/r262/TRASHBAT_photos/image-fotoshowImage-3bdbe66c-203480.jpg).

Alfonso lowered the camera down.

“Taffy, you look-” Before he could finish, Alfonso was thankfully interrupted by a journalist brandishing a Dictaphone hoping for a pre-race interview with Taffy. Of course, he obliged, and Alfonso left them in peace; relieved he’d been saved from spilling out the dangerous admission that had been on the tip of his tongue.

“You’re never that happy when you take photos of me,” Harry teased, having watched the whole display with amusement and a touch of understanding.

“That’s because you’re ugly,” Alfonso drawled easily, earning him a punch on the arm from his tall friend.

It was unfortunately to be a short lived period of ease.

“Von Trips smashed the car up,” Eugenio said when Alfonso got back to the pits after a brief run in the car. He was pale and clearly shaken up, his usual refined nature having fallen by the wayside in distress. “Ferrari is going to be livid.”

Alfonso paused; dread hitting him with such intensity, that he momentarily forgot to breathe. “Is he okay?” He managed to force out.

“Well, he’s not dead,” Eugenio dismissed with a slight shrug.

Eugenio wasn’t being deliberately callous; there was scarcely a driver around who wouldn’t respond in the same way. Accidents, and the possible resulting deaths, were an accepted normality. But Alfonso couldn’t help the annoyance that bubbled up at the Italian’s seemingly blasé attitude.

Alfonso caught him roughly by the arm and squeezed tightly in warning.

“Is he okay?” Alfonso repeated through gritted teeth.

“What is your problem?” Eugenio demanded, eyes wide in alarm, and ripped his arm out of Alfonso’s grasp. “He’s _fine_. It’s Ferrari you should be worried about.”

Alfonso really couldn’t care less about Ferrari.

He didn’t have much time to dwell on the Taffy’s accident before having to jump back into his car for the rest of the practice session. He fruitlessly twisted around in his Ferrari, glancing down the pitlane, hoping to catch a glimpse of a bruised and battered, but mostly unharmed, Taffy.

He didn’t see him.

He tried to ignore the worry, instead channelling it into going as fast as he could, and soon was done for the day. The bent chassis of Taffy’s car was being looked over outside the Ferrari garage when he got back. It didn’t look as bad as he feared, but Eugenio was right, Ferrari would not be pleased.

After asking around the various teams, Alfonso eventually found Taffy in the Maserati pit with his goggles stubbornly still hanging round his neck as if he intended to get back into his mangled car. He was leaning against a work bench, his arm already in a sling. Umberto was keeping a close eye on him, clearly not as engrossed in his book as he was trying to appear to be.

“So much for my debut, huh?” Taffy laughed self-deprecatingly. Pain flickered across his face and he transferred his weight to his uninjured leg.

Alfonso slipped off his driving gloves and tugged on his leather jacket that had been draped over his arm. “I’ll take you back to your hotel,” he offered.

“Don’t you need to stay here?”

“I don’t care,” Alfonso countered firmly.

Taffy blinked owlishly but Alfonso stood his ground. There was no way Taffy was getting his way this time. Eventually, the tension visibly drained out of him and he nodded in compliance.

Alfonso slipped an arm round Taffy’s waist and, with a quick nod to Umberto in thanks, together they hobbled away from the garages in search of a car to borrow.

**

There weren’t many people around at the hotel; everyone was still at the track, so Alfonso took his time gingerly helping Taffy up the stairs. He could feel Taffy tense with every step and briefly flirted with the idea of sweeping him up into his arms and just carrying him the rest of the way to his room. But before he could make up his mind, they were already there, neither of them having uttered a word the entire way.

Once inside, he closed the curtains and switched on the bedside table light. Taffy slowly lowered himself onto the edge of his bed, hissing through his teeth as he did so. Alfonso politely averted his eyes until he was settled.

“Fon?” Taffy called, voice tight with pain and frustration. “Do you think…” he trailed off and gestured helplessly at himself. He looked miserable. Defeated, almost.

Alfonso wordlessly fell to his knees with a dull thump and began to undo the laces on Taffy’s shoes.

“What are you going to do in the morning?” Alfonso asked as he rested Taffy’s foot on his thigh. “You’ll probably be hurting just as much, if not more.”

“Well, if I can’t convince you to stay and be my personal dresser, I suspect just try to push through the pain.”

Alfonso looked up, not sure how to respond.

“Or just walk around naked,” Taffy chuckled nervously and gripped the bed sheet.

“I was talking about the race,” Alfonso mumbled.

“Oh.” Alfonso saw Taffy’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallowed thickly. “We’ll see.”

He sat down closely next to Taffy, his added weight on the bed making the other man tilt towards him. Alfonso tugged the bottom of Taffy’s shirt out of his trousers and gently lifted it over his head. There were bruises already blossoming across his ribs. Alfonso skimmed his fingers over them, barely touching the abused skin; unwilling to let himself give in entirely. He eyed the buttons on Taffy’s trousers, wondering if he should risk overstepping a possible boundary, but immediately thought better of it and quickly, too quickly, stood up.

Taffy seemed to curl in on himself even more.

With his back curved forward and injured arm held close to his chest, Taffy looked almost fragile. Shadows played across his back, darkening his skin, and Alfonso was suddenly overcome with the urge to wrap him up in his arms.

“Tomorrow, the race, I’ll win for you.”

He wasn’t sure what possessed him to say it. Taffy wasn’t some impressionable young girl he could flatter. Maybe things would be easier if he was; a line would be all he needed. Nevertheless, it earned him a small smile.

“That’s a pretty big promise.”

“Maybe,” Alfonso agreed. “But you should know by now that I don’t do things by halves.”

“As if you’d ever allow yourself to,” he said with such warmth, that Alfonso couldn’t help but inwardly preen.

“Will you be alright?” Alfonso asked one last time, knowing he should probably get back to the track; regardless of if he wanted to or not. Taffy would never forgive him if he ended up losing his job because of him.

“I’ll be fine, Fon, thank you.”

Alfonso nodded and bid him goodnight; his thoughts already occupied by tomorrow’s race and just how he’d try to pull off a win.

**

Never had he been angrier at himself for crashing out.

**

November was an unusually free month for Alfonso; as it seemed it was for many of the other Ferrari drivers as well. Along with Peter, Phil, and Taffy, he had been invited out to Maranello by Enzo Ferrari for a few days in an attempt to build relations between the ever growing Italian team. No doubt another small group would fly out soon enough to in turn participate in the charade. Not for the first time, Alfonso cursed Juan’s seniority.

Dinner with Enzo was predictably awkward and cemented itself as something Alfonso knew he’d never enjoy. Taffy had taken it in his stride, doing what he did best – making people fall utterly in love with him. Between him and Peter, Alfonso, along with Phil, didn’t really have to concern themselves with the whole affair. Which Alfonso thought probably best for the nervous American, who seemed quite queasy at the thought of having to be the centre of attention at the large table.

Afterwards, Alfonso and Taffy managed to escape with relative fuss to explore the small town. They were walking side by side down a cobbled street, the sweet smell of food drifted along on the air and young children ran after each other around the legs of their exasperated parents.

“I’ll probably get a little place near the factory,” Taffy confessed as he kicked a stray stone down the path.

“Phil will be glad to have some company once he starts having to spend longer out here.”

“He’s a sweet guy,” Taffy said approvingly. “You think he’s going to get a full-time drive?”

“Eventually,” Alfonso easily admitted. “He has the talent. Ferrari won’t let him slip through his fingers.”

Taffy hummed in agreement. “God forbid.”

They shared a small smile.

“Why don’t you buy an apartment out here, too?” Taffy suggested. “Or ask Enzo for a room at the complex where Peter stays?”

“Ferrari already owns enough of my soul,” he stated simply. He was only here out of necessity and that’s the way he wanted it to stay. As much as he loved the team, he wouldn’t let the Old Man dictate his life outside of just racing for them.

“That’s a shame, your children would love the sun.”

Alfonso thought it endearingly naïve of Taffy to think Carroll would ever agree to them moving out here with him. The same went for Dorian. Alfonso was more than happy for them to stay with their mothers.

Taffy shielded his eyes and squinted up at the sky. “Maybe I’ll end up with a permanent tan,” he mused out loud. He pressed his bare arm against Alfonso’s and made an unhappy sound. “Oh, that’s just embarrassing.”

“It suits you,” Alfonso assured, glancing down at their arms. “You have fair features.” 

Taffy huffed in petulant acceptance.

“And anyway, I’ve seen how you look after spending too much time in the sun,” he continued. “Burnt to a crisp comes to mind.”

“Hey!” Taffy exclaimed in put-upon offense and bumped against him. “At least I don’t turn as red as Mike.”

“No one but him is that hilariously unfortunate.”

They found a small, stone fountain in the middle of the town centre and settled down on the side of it. Taffy bought them an ice-cream each from a nearby vender; chocolate and strawberry. Alfonso immediately snatched up the chocolate one and started to lap at the generous mound atop the cone. He felt the cool cream dribble down his chin but continued to devour the treat.

“I swear, you’re the messiest person I know,” Taffy admonished.

Alfonso swiped his tongue across the corner of his mouth, deliberating missing the smear of chocolate with a cheeky grin. Taffy sighed and reached out towards him. He hesitated, his fingers twitching uncertainly in the air, before mopping up the sticky trail off Alfonso’s chin with one long sweep that went all the way up to his bottom lip.

Suddenly, a shadow fell over them.

“Not interrupting, am I?” Peter said with a smirk, making Taffy jump. The Brit looked between the two of them as he unapologetically blocked the sun his two teammates had been enjoying so much.

Taffy absentmindedly popped his index into his mouth and sucked away the chocolate. “Don’t be silly,” he mumbled around the digit. “Want to join us?” Taffy asked and patted the space next to him.

“As appealing as that sounds, the Old Man wants us back at the factory to tell us something about Fangio.” Peter shrugged. “I bet he’s decided to sign for Maserati next year. No big surprise there.”

“Good news for you, then,” Alfonso added. Peter was the obvious choice to lead the team next year if Juan was no longer around. Enzo was utterly besotted with him, especially since his gentlemanly gesture in Italy that had effectively gave Juan the championship title.

Peter scrunched up his nose and stuffed his hands into his pockets. “I’m not too sure about that.”

Taffy shook his head in fondness. He plucked the forgotten ice-cream cone out of Alfonso’s hand and went to go find a rubbish bin to deposit it in, stopping to squeeze Peter’s arm in reassurance before doing so.

Now alone, Peter frowned and narrowed his eyes at Alfonso. Alfonso gave him a blank look in return, his attempt to school his features into nonchalance a well-practiced one. “Shit,” Peter whispered in realisation. “I actually was interrupting something, wasn’t I?”

Peter always had been annoyingly perceptive.

“I’d rather not talk about this right now,” Alfonso said calmly, the _or ever_ going unsaid. Peter nodded and, true to his word, changed the subject as soon as Taffy rejoined them; more stunned by Alfonso’s uncharacteristic seriousness than anything else.

The entire way back to the factory, Alfonso could feel Peter’s eyes on him; questioning, concerned and intrigued.

**

It was at the annual Ferrari team lunch in Modena a few days before Christmas that Peter finally brought it up again.

They were all seated at long tables inside the infamous Fini restaurant. Peter had made sure to get the seat next to Alfonso, even going as far as sweet-talking a factory mechanic into moving down a few spaces.

“You’re ridiculous,” Peter said as way of greeting and poured Alfonso a drink.

“I am well aware of that.”

“I take it this is more than just simple curiosity?” Peter inquired, already knowing the answer.

Alfonso made a distressed sound of acknowledgement, one so unmatched to his silky drawl, that Peter barked loudly with laughter. Heads whipped round at the noise, eager to see what was so funny. Peter bit down hard on his lip in an attempt to calm himself. 

Alfonso rolled his eyes. 

“It’s odd seeing you like this.” Peter leant back and rested an arm on the back of Alfonso’s chair. “Sweet, though,” he added with a snigger.

“I’m glad you’re enjoying it.” Alfonso smiled despite himself.

“I have to admit, I didn’t think that sort of thing interested you.” Peter coloured slightly in what Alfonso assumed was embarrassment. But it could just have easily been the alcohol finally taking its effect.

Alfonso tapped his fingers against the table top in thought.

“Does it bother you?” he inquired simply. It was an accepted fact that men sort refuge and relief with one another, but it was something you never talked about in polite – or impolite – company; the possible repercussions of discussing it with the wrong person were astronomical. But Alfonso found it refreshing to do so, especially with someone he liked as much as Peter.

An offended look settled across Peter’s face and he flicked Alfonso on the forehead in annoyance. “Don’t be an idiot, Fon, it doesn’t suit you.”

Alfonso patted Peter on the knee in appreciation and they fell into comfortable conversation.

Alfonso spiked an olive with a tooth pick and dropped it into his mouth as he listened to Peter talk about Monaco. Apparently he’d bought a new boat and was eager for everyone to visit. There wasn’t much that could dissuade Alfonso from spending a few days in Monte Carlo’s harbour, so he readily agreed.

Before he could gush some more, Peter paused. Something behind Alfonso had clearly caught his attention.

“Isn’t that your camera?” Peter nodded over to where Taffy was taking close-up photos of Olivier. He was hopping round the Belgian, who seemed more than happy to indulge him by pulling various silly faces. Much to Taffy’s glee.

“Yes,” Alfonso answered curtly, knowing Peter was already brewing some sort of remark. “He forgot his own and asked to borrow it.”

Peter whistled. “Then it must be love,” he teased.

“Don’t be an idiot, Peter, it’s doesn’t suit you.”

**

“Well, hello there, teammate,” Taffy greeted when Alfonso opened the door of his hotel room.

Taffy was still on a high after their last visit to Maranello before Christmas. The beginnings of the tan he was hoping would become a lasting feature was still evident across his cheeks and nose, and Alfonso was happy to note he was even looking a little leaner. Clearly he’d been looking after himself over their break.

Alfonso stepped aside to let Taffy in. “Are you ever going to get tired of saying that?”

“Probably not,” Taffy warned with a wink. “I’ve got you a present,” he added and pushed a weighty package into Alfonso’s hands. “For your bronze medal.”

Between seeing each other, Alfonso had again competed in the bobsleigh, this time managing a third place in the two-man event at the FIBT World Championships. It wasn’t quite the Olympics, but a fantastic achievement nonetheless.

Alfonso huffed in amusement. “We’ve come full circle,” he muttered to himself.

“Hmm?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

As Taffy wandered further in, he spied a large book open on Alfonso’s bed; the remnants of newspaper clippings scattered around it.

“What are you doing?” He asked curiously, eyes darting over the scissors and tape Alfonso had hastily piled onto the bedside table.

“Just finishing off last year’s scrapbook.” He’d been so caught up over the winter, that a backlog of photos and other little mementos from the past few months had accumulated. The perfectionist in him was determined to sort them all out before starting the new book he’d already bought.

“Can I see?” Taffy bounced on his toes.

Alfonso hesitated. “Of course,” he eventually allowed and distractedly set the package down on his dresser.

Alfonso watched as Taffy turned each page, smiling at the photos and the memories they brought back from the year before. Of course, he was keenly aware of how many photos of Taffy there were; [from](http://i146.photobucket.com/albums/r262/TRASHBAT_photos/1315225001376l.jpg) [races](http://i146.photobucket.com/albums/r262/TRASHBAT_photos/0000218452.jpg) as well as [their](http://i146.photobucket.com/albums/r262/TRASHBAT_photos/tumblr_m1jp1fAtzg1qfahc0o1_500.png) [rare moments](http://i146.photobucket.com/albums/r262/TRASHBAT_photos/2697102760.jpg) [of relaxation](http://i146.photobucket.com/albums/r262/TRASHBAT_photos/tumblr_l8jwwm5R1r1qdogv5o1_500.jpg) [in between](http://i146.photobucket.com/albums/r262/TRASHBAT_photos/1961-Wolfgang-von-Trips.jpg). And not just photos – magazine and newspaper articles, too. He went to stand by the window, hoping to put some distance between them. Nerves were rarely something Alfonso experienced, but he couldn’t do much to quell them at that moment.

He listened as Taffy punctured each turn with an embarrassed _I can’t believe you put this in_ or a nostalgic _that was a great day, wasn’t it?_ But as Taffy neared the end, Alfonso could see the dawning realisation on his face as clear as day; the smile slowly dropped and a crease between his eyebrows formed as they were pulled together in a frown. Without saying anything, he delicately plucked something out of the book. It was the postcard Taffy brought back for him from last year’s Mille Miglia.

Alfonso braced himself. He wasn’t about to start making excuses. Nor was he necessarily ready, or willing, for their friendship to be strained, but he’d deal with it. He at least knew Taffy wouldn’t take a swing at him or start screaming bloody murder; he just wasn’t that sort of person. Strangely enough, that didn’t bring him much relief.

“After I crashed in Monza,” Taffy began slowly, as if testing the waters, “I wasn’t joking when I asked you to stay.” He closed the book with a dull thump and moved it out of his lap, but stayed where he was; perched on the side of Alfonso’s bed.

Alfonso eyed Taffy’s hands clenching and unclenching on his knees with interest. “If I remember correctly, you never got as far as actually asking,” he responded.

Taffy looked up and broke into a wide, genuine smile. “So pedantic.”

Well, what do you know?

Alfonso chuckled lightly and felt the rush that always crackled just beneath the surface whenever he was around Taffy surge dramatically in want. The relief was unmatched, incomparable even to the feeling of making it through a race in one piece.

“Christ, I didn’t think you felt the same,” Taffy admitted. He ran his hands through his hair and laughed with pent up nervousness. “I mean, I thought _maybe_ , but couldn’t be sure and didn’t want to _assume_ , so-”

“You have no idea,” Alfonso interrupted. He bent down and cupped his hand round Taffy’s jaw, drawing him into a light kiss. It was simple, uncomplicated and so innocently perfect that somehow it made him all the more enamoured. All the more desperate.

Taffy whimpered. “You don’t have to be so gentle,” he murmured against Alfonso’s lips. “I think that’s the last thing either of us wants right now.”

Pleasantly surprised, Alfonso gripped the back of Taffy’s head, his fingers clenching his soft hair, and crushed their mouths together. Taffy made a pleased sound at the back of his throat and pushed forward to meet him, smiling into the kiss.

The height difference was proving awkward, so Taffy confidently pulled Alfonso onto the bed, making the other man crawl on top of him. Alfonso took the opportunity to greedily run his hands under Taffy’s shirt and up his sides, finally able to touch in the way he wanted to all those months ago.

“Fon,” Taffy groaned, his lips shining red; debauched.

Alfonso couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so far gone from just kissing someone. Surely he’d have to revisit his youth to catch a glimpse of such undisguised passion; to a time when every lick or touch or inch of slowly revealed skin was a new experience. 

He ground his hips down into Taffy’s and earned a wonderful gasp for his troubles. 

Alfonso grinned, Taffy was already hard.

“I’ve never…” Taffy fumbled with his words. “Not with a man.”

Alfonso had sort of guessed as much. The slight tremble to his hands was telling, regardless of how eager he was.

“Well, there was this boy I went to school with, but we never exactly got very far,” Taffy trailed on.

He was babbling, but his eyes were still dark with arousal. Alfonso brushed his knuckles against Taffy’s cheek, hoping to calm him down.

“You’ll have to tell me about that sometime.”

Taffy laughed; the small burst of warm ghosting over Alfonso’s lips. “Deal,” he agreed, the easy banter that always came so naturally between them a welcome distraction.

“It’s alright,” Alfonso soothed. “I’ll show you.”

Taffy flushed in embarrassment. The dark pink blossomed all the way down his neck in such a deliciously tantalising way, that Alfonso had to touch. He lightly peppered his skin with butterfly kisses until reaching the collar of his shirt. There was so much Alfonso wanted to do to him, _with_ him, but he could wait. Tonight, he’d improvise. 

Meeting no resistance, Alfonso slowly began to undress him; savouring the soft sounds Taffy made as he peeled away each piece of clothing. The erotic clink of belts being unbuckled echoed throughout the room as they silently shifted around on the bed in a dance the two of them were more than familiar with.

Taffy, beginning to feel a little bolder, started to reciprocate; his fingers easily slotting the buttons through their holes on Alfonso’s shirt without so much as a fumble. 

The sudden forwardness of it went straight to Alfonso’s cock, and he forced Taffy back down onto the bed with an appreciative growl. He kissed down his chest, drifting over to gently take a nipple into his mouth. He rolled the nub between his teeth, feeling it harden against his tongue.

“Seems as if I’ve been missing out,” Taffy panted, running his hands over Alfonso’s shoulders.

“I was just thinking the same thing.”

Alfonso missed the softening of Taffy’s eyes as he went lower and lower, tasting every inch of the German he could reach with his mouth. He circled his belly button with his tongue and lapped at the hollow of his hip bone. Taffy quivered under his touch and Alfonso found himself whispering reassurances against his skin, soft little _shhh’s_ he wouldn’t waste on just anyone.

He mouthed at the tented bulge in his underwear, blowing hot air through the cotton and making it damp.

“Please, Fon,” Taffy whined.

Alfonso hooked his fingers over the waistband and tugged them down.

“Fucking hell, Taffy,” Alfonso cursed as took the opportunity to finally drink in the sight of him. _All_ of him. Taffy’s skin was far from unblemished, small silvery scars and fading bruises – war wounds from one too many crashes – were scattered all over. But Alfonso never did like perfection. Perfection was boring.

Taffy shuddered as Alfonso’s stubble grazed along the inside of his thigh, making goosebumps break out all across his body. He skimmed his lips up the length of Taffy’s erection, enclosing them over the tip, and sucked. Taffy gasped sharply above him and Alfonso slid his mouth down further, taking as much of Taffy as he could.

“Oh, God.” Taffy’s voice was strained and he pulled at Alfonso’s hair. Alfonso enjoyed the sting and flattened his tongue against the underside of Taffy’s cock, applying just the right amount of pressure.

He bobbed his head a few times, savouring the taste, before letting him slip from his mouth and making a show of licking his lips.

“You’re obscene,” Taffy groaned. “Not that I’m complaining,” he quickly added.

Alfonso grinned widely. “Good,” he said. “Otherwise you’re in for a shock.” 

He quickly slipped off his own underwear and settled down on the top of Taffy’s thighs so their cocks lined up flush against each other. Taffy made a soft sound of surprised pleasure at the contact, his mouth dropping open in a small ‘o’. Alfonso, wasting no time, grasped both of their cocks in one hand and began to stroke them together.  
Taffy dug his nails into Alfonso’s back and arched off the bed, seeking out Alfonso’s lips for another kiss. Alfonso was happy to oblige, and swept down to lick into his mouth and drink in a whimper.

The cooling slickness clinging to Taffy made Alfonso hiss through his teeth as they slid against each other. He sprawled down on top of him, pushing a knee between Taffy’s legs to open them wider so they could fit together without so much as an inch between them, and rolled his hips.

Taffy gave a long, guttural moan that Alfonso felt reverberate all the way through him. Every last drop of nervousness was gone, replaced by instinct and the welcome release of all those months of pent up tension. Together they moved as if they’d been doing so for years; bodies snaking around each other, hands taking turns to touch and bring each other to release. 

“More, Fon,” Taffy begged. “I need you.”

“You’ve got me.”

Alfonso sucked at Taffy’s throat, hoping to leave a mark that would get the other drivers talking if they were to catch a glimpse of it, one that Taffy would have to pull his collar up high to hide. Taffy hummed, low and happy, and offered his neck up as fully as he could.

They were both sticky with sweat and Alfonso could feel that familiar build of pressure rising, the desperation and need.

“I’m close,” Taffy warned as if reading Alfonso’s mind.

“I know, me too.” 

Taffy pressed a hand to the small of Alfonso’s back, silently urging him on, and soon he was spilling across Taffy’s stomach with an ineloquent grunt. Taffy quickly followed; he set his jaw and squeezed his eyes closed, clinging to Alfonso as he rode out his orgasm.

He fell down bedside Taffy on the bed, unintentionally rolling him into his arms as he went. Once comfortable, Alfonso kissed the crown of Taffy’s head and took a few extra seconds to just enjoy Taffy’s scent curling around him.

He felt his eyelids start to droop and didn’t attempt to fight the wave of sudden exhaustion that was creeping up on him. He was satiated, content and, remarkably, at peace.

“You didn’t open your present,” Taffy said, his words muffled in Alfonso’s chest, and looked up.

Alfonso forced his eyes back open. “I was a bit occupied,” he slurred and ran his thumb over Taffy’s bottom lip, grinning when the other man playfully nipped at it.

“Come on,” Taffy whined and shoved him to the edge of the bed. “I think you’ll like it.”

Alfonso had to admit, he was intrigued. He heaved himself to his feet and stretched to get the cricks out of his back. Taffy made an appreciative sound behind him at the sight.

“I changed my mind, come back to bed.”

Alfonso laughed.

“Too late now.”

The package was neatly wrapped in dark blue paper. He ran a fingernail under the loosest seam to reveal box. He lifted off the lid and, nestled safely amongst a lighter coloured tissue paper was a new, state of the art camera.

Taffy picked back up Alfonso’s newly completed scrap book from where it had fallen onto the floor and padded over to him. He hooked his chin over Alfonso’s shoulder. “Maybe we can fill this year’s together?” He raised his eyebrows in question and gave Alfonso a lop-sided grin.

Alfonso caught Taffy round the waist, hoisted him up into the air and deposited him back on the bed. Taffy yelped as he bounced on the mattress, his limbs splaying everywhere.

Loading a fresh roll of film into the camera, Alfonso took his first photo of the year.


End file.
